Daddy's Home
by Lovely Lizzie1
Summary: Peeta comes home to his lovely children and beautiful wife. Just a little drabble from the Mellark household. One-shot.


When Peeta comes home from work, the kids lose all interest in anything else. Whatever book or toy or picture is in their hands is dropped immediately as they run towards their dad, arms outstretched to give him a hug. Most days, Peeta kneels down to wrap them up together in his big arms, kissing them over and over. On the better days – when he spends all day baking - he can pick them both up at once and let them dig their faces into his neck. But on the days when his leg bothers him or he's had to deal with difficult customers at the bakery, all he can manage is ruffling their hair before flopping onto the couch. It's on these days that I lose interest in my activities to focus on him as well. A back rub can do wonders on my husband.

But most days, he gets home, gives them a big hug, and then removes his jacket and boots. Eva likes trying to hang up his jacket on the hook that's way out of her reach, giggling as she jumps, trying to reach it. James, being closest to the ground and obsessed with precision and detail like his father, straightens the shoes. Peeta's on the left beside my hunting boots, Eva's pink sneakers beside mine, and James's yellow running shoes beside hers. It's one of my favourite things to see, those shoes at the door, speaking volumes about the people who wear them. On this particular day, Eva clings to Peeta's good leg after his jacket is hung.

"Daddy, did you bring me any cupcakes?" At 5 years old, she is already obsessed with the cupcakes her father bakes every day. Peeta chuckles and tries to walk, heading for the couch in the living room.

"Not tonight, Eva. You got one yesterday," by now, James is trailing along behind them, holding onto the hem of Peeta's shirt, trying not to step on his heels. My little girl pouts and lets go of Peeta's leg. He sees this, probably feels it in the air that his daughter is less than thrilled. "Tomorrow, I promise," he agrees, making her clap in jubilation.

"Me too, Daddy!" James chirps.

"You too, James," Peeta picks him up to give him a kiss, a big wet one that he's been forbidden to give me anymore. It makes him laugh and squeal before he's plunked back on the ground. And, just like always, the stories from Eva begin. She's in school in the morning, and then comes home for lunch, meaning she has about 6 hours of life she needs to fill her daddy in on. Some of the stories are made up, based on one small fragment of truth. She exaggerates everything, calling an inch-worm a snake or another girl with dark hair her twin. Peeta absorbs it all, listens attentively as if there's going to be a quiz later on. Eva talks until she can't remember anything else, usually ending her rambling with a request for dinner.

"What do you want for dinner?" Peeta asks the kids this every night and the answer is almost always the same. Eva wants macaroni, while James is content to yell that he wants carrots and corn. Nothing else. It makes us both laugh.

"I got a couple squirrels today, Peeta," I say from my spot on the couch, the latest book of ours open in front of me. Eva pouts about this. She'd rather have macaroni.

"We'll have macaroni next time, okay Ev?" He tries to reason with her. She folds her arms across her chest and looks so strikingly like me that it worries me slightly. The scowl on her face is replaced with laughter as Peeta tickles her. "Smile, Eva, smile," he encourages her. James wants in on this, too. The living room is soon filled with my children's laughter. As usual, I get up to make dinner, leaving Peeta with his two monkeys. And as usual, Peeta stands, disentangling himself from his son and daughter.

"I'll make dinner. You made lunch," he offers. James is the first to oppose this today.

"No, Daddy! I want to play wif you!" He clings to Peeta's big hand, trying to pull him back to the couch.

"Peeta, it's fine. You haven't seen them all day," I reassure him, moving back to quickly peck his cheek. "They've missed you."

So Peeta thanks me, and James drags him to the corner of the room where his toy cars and trucks are. "Play wif me!" He demands again, but Peeta never needs asking twice. He's lying on his stomach in a matter of seconds, pulling some of James' favourite cars out of the bin. I hear the two of them making car noises together while I start cooking the squirrel for dinner. A hand tugs at my shirt not too long after.

"Mommy," Eva stands next to me, rubbing one eye with her fist. "I want to play with Daddy, too," she whines. I don't like to encourage the whining my children do, but since Peeta's been working longer hours this week, I understand how she feels. Even I want to whine that I want to play with him in the most innocent way.

"You can play with Daddy and James if you want," I suggest. This doesn't sit well with her.

"I don't like playing with cars." In the end, I take her hand in mine and bring her back to Peeta. With a little nudge from me, she starts talking, the whining gone from her voice. She never whines to Peeta. It stresses him out and makes him short with her. "Daddy, I want you to play puppy with me," she requests. Puppy is a game the two of them came up with when Eva was James' age. Peeta's always the puppy – as he should be – and gives her rides on his back while she orders him to sit, stay, and come. James hasn't quite caught onto the fun this game entails, so it's still a special thing between Eva and her dad.

"You don't want to play cars with us?" He asks, sitting up to pull her towards him. She shakes her head almost pitifully. This warrants a kiss on the forehead from him. "Okay, we can play puppy a little bit before dinner," Peeta agrees. "Can Jamesy play with us?" Eva nods, probably because she knows he won't want to. I hear the water start to bubble from the kitchen, so I hurry off to finish dinner. This time, the sounds of Eva shrieking happily and calling out commands is joined by Peeta barking and panting.

"Dinner!" I call out fifteen minutes later. Eva's the first one to the table, pulling back her chair and climbing onto it. I serve the food while Peeta carries James in and sets him in the plastic booster seat. Dinner is mostly quiet in our house. The kids are slow eaters though they try. Often, Peeta and I get to have what might be our first conversation of the day. We imitate Eva in our retelling of the day. Peeta says he got a billion customers while I inform him that I caught a racoon in the first 2 seconds of hunting. On days when we're too tired to talk, the only sound is of chewing and Eva humming while she eats. Peeta's always first done. He inhales the food, no matter what it is.

"I'm full," James complains, pushing his plate away even though he's only finished half of what I gave him.

"Eat four more bites, James," Peeta suggests. With reluctance, James puts another forkful into his mouth. I finish second followed by Eva who thinks it's a race at the end.

"Dessert?" She asks hopefully, her blue eyes lighting up. Peeta shakes his head.

"Not tonight, Mockingjay," he pats her on the head, using the nickname I won't let him call me, but that Eva embodies perfectly. She's the Mockingjay in our family now. Peeta does do the dishes afterwards, feeling like he owes me the world after I made the meal. James hugs his leg, eager to spend every last waking second with his dad. It's usually Eva who remains in the kitchen to help dry or stack the dishes. But tonight, Peeta has to lift James onto the counter beside the sink so he can watch. I stay at the table with Eva while she practices writing her full name on a piece of paper.

"How's the writing going, Eva?" Peeta asks, craning his neck to see over her shoulder.

"I'm not as good as you, Daddy," she pouts, thinking about all the times she's seen Peeta sign his name or write a letter with his calligraphy pen. She's better than I was at her age, though.

"You'll get better, Ev. I promise," together, Peeta and James finish the dishes just in time for Eva to get bored of writing her name. Peeta retrieves her practice sheet from the table and sticks it to the fridge with a magnet. It's time for bed for the two youngest Mellarks. Tonight also happens to be bath night, which happens every two days. Just like every night, Peeta gets them ready for bed. He starts running the water in the bathtub before getting clean pajamas for them. Eva can undress herself, but when I go up to get into my pajamas, I see Peeta sitting on the stool, helping James keep his balance while he gets his pants off. He enjoys bath-time less than Eva, who would probably stay in the warm soapy water all night if she could. They get in together, playing with the rubber ducks and boats they have while Peeta expertly shampoos them. It takes him half as long to rinse and then condition as I take on the off-chance Peeta is sick or too tired to bathe them.

"Can we stay and play, Daddy?" Eva asks, trying to squish a duck onto a miniature sailboat. Peeta nods.

"For a little bit," he stays to make sure they're okay, joining them in making the little army men do dives off the side of the tub. James laughs hysterically at the sound effects Peeta makes. I know he lets them stay longer than they should. When he finally pulls the plug and wraps them in towels, their fingers are prune-like and Eva's teeth are chattering. Getting them in pajamas is probably the hardest part about bath time. James squirms and Eva tries to get back into the tub. Their dad is an old pro, though. He gets Eva's underwear and pants on first, and then holds James between his knees to do the same.

"Can I help you dry your hair?" I hear Peeta ask his daughter. I know she'll be trying to wring water from it as best as she can.

"No, I want to do it!" She cries. There's no more arguing, so I know Peeta's moved on to getting James into a pajama shirt. Eventually, I hear Eva jumping up and down.

"I can't do it!" She cries. Patiently, Peeta takes her towel and begins squeezing out the last of the water so she doesn't ruin the back of her shirt with drips. He kisses her cheek when he's done and pulls her shirt over her head.

"Go get Mommy to brush your hair," he says, handing her the brush. Peeta tries his hardest to braid her hair every night before bed, but he knows he'll never be as good as I am. It also gives him time to clean up the bathroom. Eva's hair is silky and smooth when I brush it. She holds very still so I can section it and put it into two French braids. I'm happier she inherited my dark hair instead of Peeta's blonde like James did. She would look too much like Prim. When I'm done, Peeta isn't in the bathroom anymore so I help the two of them find socks and retrieve slippers from under their beds.

"I want hot chocolate," James says as I hand him his teddy bear. Eva has her own stuffed elephant cradled in her arms. As if on cue, Peeta returns, saying he made hot chocolate for them. James's eyes light up like it's Christmas morning. He's the first to the kitchen table where a mug with hot chocolate and marshmallows awaits him. Each of them gets half a cheese bun as well since the house is so well-stocked with them. I sit in the living room with our book again, going over what we've written so far, but I can still hear my family in the kitchen, slurping their drinks. It's a familiar sound since Peeta has always had hot chocolate before bed, even before kids. Now, he makes it for them whenever he's not feeling too stressed or tired or sick. Even on those days, he tries his hardest.

"I want some cuddle time," Eva asks, wanting to sit with her daddy on the couch and cuddle quietly before bed. She knows she won't get any. Peeta only lets them have 'cuddle time' when they're sick or he's had a really bad day and needs them to ground him. Cuddle time doesn't last as long with James because he's younger and has less of an attention span. Eva seems to always want it.

"Not tonight, honey," Peeta says almost regretfully. "Maybe another time," the clinking of glasses makes me think they're done their bedtime snack. Sure enough, chairs scrape back and Peeta tells them to go brush their teeth. This is my cue to follow them upstairs and help. My children never want to brush their teeth. By the time I've forced both their mouths open to start brushing, Peeta has finished clearing the kitchen.

"Tag, you're it," I tell him, leaving the bathroom to brush my own teeth. Immediately, James tries to leave the bathroom. Peeta squats down in the doorway, keeping them both there. I think they stay in the bathroom for at least 5 more minutes. The kids argue but Peeta's patient and adamant. He tells them that if they don't brush their teeth, they won't get a story. This works wonders, especially since Eva knows that a story is always accompanied by snuggles from daddy. I can almost hear the flecks of toothpaste hit the bathroom mirror in her frenzy to get finished.

"Story! Story!" James cheers, clapping his hands. The floorboards creak as he skips to the room he shares with his sister. Most nights they get a story read to them from the overflowing bookcase. On better nights, when they haven't tired him out too much, Peeta invents a story for them, always casting them in the big roles. Apparently tonight is one of those nights. Eva and James crawl under the covers of Eva's bed while Peeta lies between them, an arm around each of them. I don't listen to the specifics of the story. But tonight there's an elephant, a tiger, and someone who's British. Peeta does all the sounds, voices, and some of the less extravagant actions. Eva and James giggle and then they are quiet. Peeta's voice is barely heard. He's trying to end the story nicely, but endings have never been his strong point. He rambles on about Princess Eva and James the Knight until he's sure they must be asleep.

I turn on the lamp in our room and flick the overhead light off, crawling into bed already. My husband spends an unusually long time in their room. I start to wonder if he's fallen asleep with them. On tiptoe, I creep to their door and peer inside. He hasn't drifted off, but Peeta's still in Eva's bed with a child's head on each shoulder. He kisses them over and over, stroking their hair and rubbing their backs.

"Peeta," I whisper softly to not wake them. "I think they're okay now. Come to bed," he nods and carefully gets up, bringing James with him. After settling the little boy in his own bed and giving them each one more kiss, he's finally back to me. I give him a long kiss, savouring the taste of his lips on mine. He's been too good today.

"Can I go to bed now?" He asks, pulling away hesitantly. It's not too often he gets long kisses anymore. With two kids, there's never time.

"Of course," I reply, taking his hand and going to our room. He has a quick shower and gets into pajama pants, since I'm in his shirt. Instead of getting under the covers and pulling me close to him like he does unless he's had an attack, Peeta flops on top of the duvet. I tickle the back of his neck where his blonde hair ends. His shoulders shrug and he turns over to look at me, smiling. "Are you okay? You look beat," I say, a crease forming on my forehead.

"Yeah, I just had a rough day at work," he replies.

"Peeta, you know you can rest when you get home. You don't have to play puppy with the kids," I play with his hair, which he loves. In return, he pulls me closer to him, feeling better already.

"They're worth it," he says. I smile and give him another long kiss. He sticks around for this one, though. With his lips still on mine, he reaches back and turns the lamp off so we're in the dark. I pull away first.

"Okay, you really need to sleep, Mr. Mellark," I kiss his nose and he practically sinks into his pillow.

"Thank you, Mrs. Mellark," he mumbles, draping an arm across my stomach to keep me near him. His breathing evens out in record time while I snuggle into him. That night, the kids wake up more times than they ever have. First, Eva can't sleep and she needs her daddy to hold her for a minute. Then James is thirsty, but he favours Peeta over me in the night. They both have nightmares that Peeta fixes by rubbing their backs and letting them talk about it. I don't always wake up, but tonight I feel obliged to let Peeta sleep. He's adamant that he can do it; he can fix their problems, even though the dark circles under his eyes are growing. Eventually, the kids can't wake him up from whatever deep sleep he's in, so they settle for crawling in between us. Once they feel safe with us, both of them stay sleeping until the next morning.

Then, Peeta makes us breakfast before going to work. All day, the kids ask me when Daddy's coming home. They can't wait for him to get back, and I know Peeta feels the same way.

When the door opens again, the kids lose all interest in anything else. Daddy is home now. What could be better?


End file.
